Dating Can Be Deadly. Wendy Roberts, LCSWЧитать онлайн книгу.
My gaze landed on a grisly scene. At the foot of the next tree, a cat—or whatever was left of one—had been brutally eviscerated. Its corpse lay in the center of a blood-soaked pentagram that had been dug into the dirt.
“Let’s bolt,” I choked out.
“And it was just totally and completely gross!” Jenny announced, concluding her description of our escapade. The three of us—me, Jenny and her roommate—were huddled in their small apartment at the kitchen table over a plate of brownies.
“You really predicted it, Tabitha?” Lara asked, eyes wide from behind thick black-rimmed glasses.
“No.” I sighed, because now I’d have to correct all of Jenny’s exaggerations. “To start with, my car was not carjacked, it merely died over on Baldwin Street. Jen and I were waiting for a bus when the purse snatcher grabbed my bag. He was at least fifty and most likely a druggy, not a green beret set on revenge.” I rolled my eyes at Jen, who was biting into her fourth brownie. “But, yes, there was a cat that was cut up and it was humongously gross. I only had a bad feeling about what was behind the tree, I didn’t drop into a trancelike state and predict the second coming.”
Jenny harrumphed. “Nothing wrong with adding a bit of color to a story.”
Why would you need to make a horrible event sound even worse?
“Did you call the cops?” Lara asked.
Jenny and I looked at each other then back at Lara and shrugged.
“You should call someone, shouldn’t you?” She pushed. “The ASPCA? The groundskeeper for the cemetery?”
We shook our heads.
“What for?” Jenny asked. “They never catch purse snatchers and the cat’s dead—nothing will change that.”
“And it’s not like the Seattle PD is going to launch a door-to-door search for either my forty dollars or for some sicko who likes to hurt animals,” I put in.
“Yeah, but the pentagram.” Lara shook her head slowly from side to side. “That says bad shit, like satanic stuff or something.”
“Actually I think pentagrams are usually linked more to Wicca and witches, right?” Jenny asked.
Both turned and stared expectantly at me.
“What?” I demanded. “I don’t follow that stuff anymore, you know that! Anyway, mutilated animals…” I shuddered. “That sounds satanic to me.”
“If it’s the devil, then we’ll say a prayer,” Jenny commented sarcastically. “That doesn’t mean we need to get in his face.”
There was a pause while we each considered our own thoughts on the matter.
“So, where’s your car?” Lara asked, brushing brownie crumbs from her sweater.
“We towed it to Doug’s garage,” I replied.
“Your cousin, Doug?” Lara asked Jenny. “The one with no neck?”
“Yeah, that’s the one,” Jenny agreed.
Then, as if thinking of my 1995 Ford Escort summoned it to respond, my cell phone rang. It was the mechanic. The conversation was short and afterward I laid my head down on the table and moaned.
“Is she having another one of her visions?” Lara asked Jenny.
“Nah.” Jenny chewed another brownie. “Just an emotional meltdown.”
“My car,” I murmured against the cool pine table. “It’s going to cost almost eight hundred bucks to fix it.”
“Wow,” Jenny sympathized. “You could probably just buy another Escort for that price, right?”
I lifted my head to glare at her.
“Okay, maybe not one as nice as yours,” she conceded. “Guess you’ll be taking the bus for a while.”
“I hate the bus,” I whined. “Where am I going to get that kind of cash?”
Half an hour later we concluded that I could save up enough to pay for the repair if I gave up a few necessities like Starbucks, Vogue magazine and food for the next six months.
“Or you could just get another job,” Lara suggested, placing a soup-bowl size mug of thick black coffee in front of me. “They’re looking for another person to help behind the concession counter at the Movie Megaplex.”
Lara was the queen of part-time. She held four part-time jobs and kept her schedules straight on a large white wipe-off board in her bedroom.
“No way! I’m already putting in my forty hours a week at McAuley and Malcolm.” And it felt more like fifty.
“Well, technically you don’t work a full forty hours,” Jenny pointed out. “You’re usually at least a half hour late, you take long lunches and you leave early. My guess is you really only work about thirty hours a week. Of course, it’s better than when you were smoking and taking all those puff breaks.”
Jenny and I worked together at the law firm of McAuley and Malcolm. Jenny had the prestigious title of legal secretary while I was only the lowly receptionist. Jenny also covered my ass whenever I was away from my desk so she knew all about my lack of attendance.
“Still, what about my social life?” I drank from the hot coffee and felt my armor crumpling. This was my social life.
“I’ll loan you fifty bucks until payday, Tab,” Jen offered generously.
“Come with me tonight and I’ll get Harold to hire you,” Lara announced, as if it were all settled. “A few nights a week and you’ll quickly have your car repairs paid for.”
After a little more coffee and lots more cajoling, Lara convinced me. I called in to report my stolen Visa and then we headed out to the movie theatre where I was introduced to Harold Wembly. He was a beanpole young man with acne-scarred skin and the manager of the Movie Megaplex.
“So you want a career as a Megaplex counter assistant?” his eyes gleamed with power.
“Um, well sure, I guess.” I turned and raised my eyebrows at Lara.
“You’re in luck.” He clapped his hands. “You can start tonight. Joan called in sick and Lara here can show you the ropes. After tonight you’ll work from Wednesday to Saturday, six-thirty ’til midnight.”
“F-four nights a week?” I stuttered. “I was thinking maybe two.”
“Bus,” Lara hissed in my ear. “Do it his way and you’ll get your car back before the November downpours start.”
I sighed. “That’ll be fine.”
Harold tossed me a yellow button-down Henley shirt that had Megaplex embroidered in green over the pocket and popcorn-butter stains on the cuffs.
It was still half an hour before the theater would open so Lara took me to the staff room and introduced me to the two other girls who’d be dishing up popcorn with us. Then she brought me down to the huge counter and familiarized me with movie munchie etiquette.
“There are three basic sizes—jumbo, enormous and colossal.” She pointed to the three-dimensional poster on the wall.
“You mean small, medium and large.”
Lara covered my mouth with her hand and slid her gaze to the left and right. “Don’t ever let Harold hear you refer to the sizes that way, or you’ll be fired on the spot.”
Oh, boy.
“The drinks are the same sizes and you need to fill the cups half with ice before pouring in the pop.” She opened a refrigerator beneath the counter. “Bottled water is kept here.”
“What if they want regular water, from a tap?”
Lara shook